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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536030">Genie in a Bottle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist'>terma_archivist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The X-Files</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2000-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2000-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:21:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder, being the premiere investigator of all things X, discovers that the bottle he's been carrying has some very interesting, very supernatural properties. Or so he thinks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>TER/MA</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Genie in a Bottle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at <a href="https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA">TER/MA</a> and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile">the TER/MA collection profile</a>.<br/>Notes: This is supposed to be humorous. Relax and enjoy the utter lack of characterization! Beta: By the wonderful Dr. Ruthless.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/><b>Genie in a Bottle
<br/>by Meri Lomelindi</b>
</p>
<p> 
<br/>Mulder tried to take a swig from the bottle and found, to his chagrin, that it was empty.
</p>
<p>  <i>Well, fuck it.</i>
</p>
<p>  Turning it over in his hands, cool smoothness of glass against hot fingers, he stared in vain at the bronze-tinted container and willed its contents to bubble up again.  Like amber, honey-sweet; it had felt thick and cloying on the rawness of his aching throat, but now it was gone..
</p>
<p>  He slid the rest of the way down the wall that he'd been using to prop his flailing limbs up, wincing as the rough cement dug into his back.  Chips of paint scratched where his thin, torn shirt flapped open; he'd lost his trenchcoat somewhere along the line.  The other drunkards and homeless louts huddled further down the street, nothing more than vague, lamplit forms teasing the edges of his rapidly blurring vision.
</p>
<p>  During the fumble for his cell phone, which also turned up missing, he had to admit that he was a bit —
</p>
<p>  <i>drunk</i>
</p>
<p>  tipsy.  The cab driver might misinterpret his somewhat mangled, travel-worn appearance and refuse to give him a ride.  And besides, now that he'd scraped away the paving pebbles that were poking his ass, this small expanse of curb was really quite comfortable.  Except that there was nothing left in his bottle.
</p>
<p>  The wasted rabble down the street probably had something, maybe some stale beer, but he wanted the <i>good</i> stuff.  The stuff in his icy, unmarked bottle, sold to him for a pricy five bucks by the scruffy pretty boy who'd promised that it would be the best he'd ever tasted —
</p>
<p>  <i>finer than fine, pure as snow</i>
</p>
<p>  <i>get you drunk by the smell of it</i>
</p>
<p>  and then sulked when Mulder turned down his offer for a blowjob.  Insipid little bastard.
</p>
<p>  Reminded of the lovely bottle once again, he brought it up to chapped lips and sucked eagerly, catching one last bittersweet droplet of alcoholic splendor.  Magic, magic bottle.  If ever he'd been looking for proof of the supernatural, this was the place to find it.
</p>
<p>  <i>crunch crunch</i>
</p>
<p>  And before his glazed eyes stalked a shadow, sidling closer to his dark alcove, narrow grey line widening to reveal a telltale ripple of muscle and the spiky buzz of an ineffably stupid-ass haircut.
</p>
<p>  <i>Oh, I know you, you're some crazy fuck who—</i>
</p>
<p>  The shadow, now swallowing him up in its blackened swath as it bent over him, spoke the language of mocking, lackadaisical wonder.  Spoke it to perfection, but Mulder found that he didn't give a flying fuck anymore.  "So you finally had the nerve to get plastered."
</p>
<p>  When he peered up into the elfin face, it was so sweet —
</p>
<p>  <i>nevermind the curled lip</i>
</p>
<p>  and innocent that a sloppily delighted grin spread over his own.  The name wafted easily from his tongue, but there wasn't a lot of memory to go with it other than the faint sensation of skin on skin.  "'lex."
</p>
<p>  <i>mmmmm</i>
</p>
<p>  A brief jolt of surprise widened Alex's eyes, smoothed out the tiny wrinkles around them—he could just make them out when the head was tilted so close to his—and they hardened again, little marbled pupils practically sneering at him.
</p>
<p>  "Right.  C'mere, the car's just a few feet away."  Then his savior was yanking him up unceremoniously, his own arms slung around the solid shoulders after his legs wobbled like jelly.  Before he quite knew where they were going, he was sprawled in the passenger's seat with Krycek (was that his other name?) grumbling because Mulder's boots were on the dashboard.  This was a grave sin, apparently.
</p>
<p>  ".. been followin' me?" he slurred through the gurgle of the engine, tracing jagged swirls along the bottle's plain surface.  Not quite realizing that he'd been clutching it tightly in his hand, he was now absurdly gleeful that the other man hadn't thought to take it away.
</p>
<p>  "It's my job, even if you don't have one anymore."
</p>
<p>  That brought the sharp knot of pain to the forefront of Mulder's mind, but he couldn't be bothered to untangle it in his current state of inebriation.  "Jus' as well.  Guy with the shiny head was dyin' get me on his deshk with a paddle an' a pair of cuffs.."
</p>
<p>  "Skinner?"  Ringing note of incredulity there.
</p>
<p>  "Shkinny," Mulder repeated in a parody of mild contempt, punctuating his words with a wheeze of a laugh.  "An' that Scully chick won't listen to anythin' you gotta say, no matter what, jus' give ya shit day an' night—"
</p>
<p>  The car turned onto a busy street, flashing lights and neon signs momentarily blinding him so that Krycek's musings were his only companion.  The man had evidently recovered from his shock.
</p>
<p>  "I hadn't pegged Skinner as the bondage type."
</p>
<p>  Licking his lips, dry and cracked from the chill in the unusually efficient air conditioning system, he endeavored to respond:
</p>
<p>  "When ya been reamed by him ev'ry other day—"
</p>
<p>  and then suddenly, studying his companion's newly visible profile in the glittery haze of headlights—strong curve of cheek, razor-sharp, boyish dip of chin—had a rather life-altering revelation.
</p>
<p>  Mulder watched his bottle as if it had grown two heads - or perhaps three—and then scrubbed at it reverently, his goofy smile stretching to accommodate greater mirth.  He leaned over to poke Alex's shoulder, tap-tap, but fuzzy nerve responses made it into more of a slap.
</p>
<p>  "This," he announced with a flourish that almost sent the bottle careening through the windshield, "is a magic bottle, 'lex."
</p>
<p>  "That would have to be the first thing your demented mind would grab at, even when drunk.  I should have known."
</p>
<p>  "S'got powerrrs."
</p>
<p>  "Right.  Sure.  What powers?"  It was hard to catch the subsequent mutter, low-voiced, ".. at least he's a silly drunk.. "
</p>
<p>  "See—plain an' mah-sterious, with the shtuff inside, s'got to be magic."  After a pause, his voice drifted over conspirationally, "A genie."
</p>
<p>  Though Alex's eyes remained on the road, his eyebrows made a steady waggle ceilingward.
</p>
<p>  "F'real, I swear.  You—" he jabbed a finger in the other man's side for emphasis, "are my genie."
</p>
<p>  A muffled 'oof' of pain, and then:
</p>
<p>  "How do you figure?"  
</p>
<p>  Stumped, Mulder considered this for a moment, until another burst of inspiration hit him.  It was actually Alex's hand; they'd stopped at a traffic light and the man in the driver's seat had taken the opportunity to knock Mulder's feet off of the dashboard and whack him a good one over the head.  During the moaning and groaning that followed, he was struck by the explanation he needed - though not before Alex's admonishments.
</p>
<p>  "I don't care how juiced you are, Mulder; keep your feet off the dashboard.  For that matter, just don't touch anything.  This is a <i>new</i> car."
</p>
<p>  <i>fucking neat-freak punk ass—</i>
</p>
<p>  "Comes from being an assassin."  Light, conversational tone, and Mulder shuddered.  Had he really spoken aloud? "You learn to keep things clean."
</p>
<p>  "Genie," he reminded his rescuer, tugging on the black leather jacket insistently.  "I rubbed this here bottle an' you 'peared.  Gimmie three wishes."
</p>
<p>  "Mulder, how many people have told you that you're crazy?  Insane?  Psychotic, maybe?"
</p>
<p>  ".. don't call me spooky f'r nothin," he said, with asperity.
</p>
<p>  Alex's mouth worked silently, opened, fishlike, and then slid into a sensual line.  An odd, starry gleam was reflected in his eyes.
</p>
<p>  "All right.  Tell me your deepest, darkest desires, and they'll become reality."
</p>
<p>  Just as Mulder was about to voice his wish, the steering wheel swam into view.  "Hey, you're drivin' with one hand. Not s'posed to do that, y'know.."
</p>
<p>  Flicker of frown like a flash of lightning, and gone just as quick.  "I only have one arm."
</p>
<p>  Tentatively he reached out with his eyes, noting the gloved hand that fell limp against the upholstery.  The cuff had ridden up, exposing a square of pale skin; of ashes left after a blaze.  Skin that had an unusual sheen, almost like —
</p>
<p>  <i>angels</i>
</p>
<p>  plastic.  <i>Oh.</i>
</p>
<p>  "Almos' had my arm cut off once," he confided, upon conjuring a foggy memory of the incident.
</p>
<p>  "Same people who hacked mine off, probably."
</p>
<p>  Shimmering lights faded and withered; they'd entered a more residential district of town.  Perhaps they were nearing his apartment.
</p>
<p>  "Well, I wish f'r you to get your arm back.  In-fact, did-you-know-that- "
</p>
<p>  A sharp voice cut him off, laced with sarcasm.  "Very touching, Mulder.  But the genie Bible forbids any wishes that would benefit the genie—or the bottle."
</p>
<p>  Mulder, whose next request was going to be a refill, twisted his features into a pout.  "Really?"
</p>
<p>  "It's in the contract.  Try again." 
</p>
<p>  Feeling sullen, he blurted the first thing that popped into his mind; the thing that was <i>always</i> on his mind, even when he was high as a kite.  "Kay, I wanna know the truth 'bout cancerstick an' the shadow governent."
</p>
<p>  "I don't see why it matters.  Even if I tell you, you'll never be able to do anything about it without your badge. And without Scully at your side, no one'll take you seriously—not that they ever did, of course."  Was that the ghost of a smile?
</p>
<p>  "Jus' 'cause she married some big shot physitician—"
</p>
<p>  "Physicist."
</p>
<p>  "S'what I said—physicist—doesn't mean she had to report me for.. hey, I want my wish."   </p>
<p>   "Fine."  There was a pause and an ominous glint of eye, metallic grey.  "The truth: cancerstick and his cronies are sniveling, sell-out, alien fucking bastards."
</p>
<p>  "But I want the truth 'bout the black cancer, an' my sister, an' Schully, an' my—"
</p>
<p>  "You didn't ask for that.  Best be careful, Mulder; you only have one wish left, and we'll be at your apartment in just a minute.  I've got places to wreck, people to poison; you know.  Typical genie stuff."
</p>
<p>  His last comment blew past Mulder like a gust of hurricane force wind, leaving very little in the way of logic in its wake.  There was also the effect of whatever had been in that bottle of his, which showed no sign of wearing off in the near future.
</p>
<p>  "One!" he spluttered in outrage.  "But I only got one wish granted, an' that wasn't even a real one, 'cause you tricked me."
</p>
<p>  "You've made two wishes.  If you wanted to make sure that they would both achieve the expected results, you should have studied the terms outlined in my contract."
</p>
<p>  "I don't see no contract."
</p>
<p>  "It's in the bottle," Alex said with an imperious toss of the head, as if this was something that Mulder should have figured out long ago.  And baffled, the former FBI agent hefted the bottle up to his face, shoving it in front of his best eye—the left one—and tried to discern its contents.  When the car abruptly squealed to a stop, he almost dropped it on his feet, which were now scrunched up beneath the dashboard.
</p>
<p>  Blinking, Mulder glanced over at D.C.'s resident spy.
</p>
<p>  <i>He would have a stick shift, wouldn't he..</i>
</p>
<p>  With the car in park near the entrance to a very familiar apartment building, Alex lounged back into his plush seat.  Trailed his good hand in spidery wisps over Mulder's shoulder, bare where the shirt had been torn during his earlier carousing, and grinned wickledly.  
</p>
<p>  <i>pure evil, that's what that stuff was</i>
</p>
<p>  "One wish left, Mulder.  Make it good; remember?  Your deepest, darkest desires?"
</p>
<p>  Thought bubbles formed, glittered in the dark panes of Alex's face as he watched, drifted.  Popped, and sent a heady rush of <i>something</i> —
</p>
<p>  <i>need</i>
</p>
<p>  threading through his veins and down to his cock.  His hand snaked out to explore smooth skin, hollows of bone and toned flesh, and the wish was murmured with his mouth just shy of the other's parted lips.
</p>
<p>  "I wish f'r a night of very <i>hot</i> sex with my genie."
</p>
<p>  But when he leaned in to ravish the enticing mouth, he found himself pressing into a forehead instead.  Then a warm tongue descended upon his neck, lapping and sucking, with a line of wet kisses lingering on his skin as it made its way up, finally, to his lips.
</p>
<p>  <i>holy fuck</i>
</p>
<p>  Moaning wordlessly into Alex's mouth as a hand strayed down to squeeze his thigh, shivers tingling down his spine and arousal flooding his brain like high tide, he slid his own hand over to cup that tight ass —
</p>
<p>  Suddenly, his companion shoved him back into the window.
</p>
<p>  "Like I said, Mulder, I can't grant wishes that would benefit me in any way."  A mocking sneer teased the corners of his mouth.  Ever so deliberately, he leaned over Mulder's legs—'accidentally' brushing his groin with a well-placed elbow—and unlocked the door.  The occupant of the passenger's seat was then dumped onto the sidewalk, shiny black metal slamming shut in front of his face.
</p>
<p>  Mulder racked his brain, trying to summon up the worst insult possible under such circumstances.
</p>
<p>  "MISANTHROPE!"
</p>
<p>  A snigger, and then Alex added, casually, "Your breath isn't the sweetest either, Mulder."
</p>
<p>  When he opened his mouth to respond with another, equally indignant though monotone-voiced shriek, the car whirred to life and sped away.  Not, though, before he could hear Alex's exultant hiss of, "I'll be watching you!" and the clatter of his precious bottle as the genie tossed it out of the open window.  Glass shattered heart-wrenchingly at his feet, coruscating twinkle of diamonds in the moonlight, and he struggled into a sitting position.  Damn, but his head was beginning to pound.
</p>
<p>  <i>Well, fuck it.</i>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> <i> There's no time for metaphors cried the little pill to me<br/>   He said, "Life is a placebo masquerading as a simile"<br/>   I knew that pill was lying<br/>   Too gregarious, too nice<br/>   But as he walked I had to sing this twice:<br/>   Lie still, little bottle<br/>   Don't twist, it ain't twistin' time<br/>   With every move you make you just disintegrate my<br/>   ever-troubled mind</i></p>
<p> "Lie Still, Little Bottle" (They Might Be Giants)
</p>
<p>  He said hey boy what's happening<br/>   What is going on<br/>   You can have three wishes<br/>   If you don't take too long</p>
<p> "Three Wishes" (Roger Waters)
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <a id="notes" name="notes"></a>
</p>
<table>
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td> Date:        March 24, 2000
<br/>Location:    Washington D.C.
<br/>Contact:     [email removed]; any and all feedback              welcomed and adored.              me first.  Danke.
<br/>Spoilers:    "Terma" and general Krycek
<br/>Rating:      I suppose it's NC-17.  If m/m interaction              disturbs you, you're missing out.
<br/>Pairing:     Mulder/Krycek, obviously.
<br/>Summary:     Mulder, being the premiere investigator of all              things X, discovers that the bottle he's been              carrying has some very interesting, very              supernatural properties.  Or so he thinks.
<br/>Disclaimer:  Chris Carter, Fox, and company own the X-Files,              but I've got my greedy little hands all over              the boys.  Freely—err.  Without profit.
<br/>Notes:       This is supposed to be humorous.  Relax and enjoy the utter lack of characterization!
<br/>Beta:        By the wonderful Dr. Ruthless. 
</td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
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